


Cream of Broccoli Soup

by perhapsMama



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drunkenness, Other, Taking care of Hank Anderson, Vomit Mention, because lets face it hes a fucking mess, grossness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 01:33:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perhapsMama/pseuds/perhapsMama
Summary: You know that Hank clearly doesn't need to be fixed, so you try to help him in the littlest of ways. Being there for him is one of them.





	Cream of Broccoli Soup

You’re awoken from your sleep at an ungodly hour by the sound of your phone ringing. 

It’s Hank, judging from the distant yelling, and loud belch he greets you with when he finally puts his phone near his face. 

“Need you t’ pick me up from uh, ” he stifles a hiccup, then lets out a breath. ”Jimmy’s. Took my fuckin’ keys and won’t let me go ’til I have a ride, ” Hank slurs, then yells at someone on the other end.

Before you have a chance to say anything, he hangs up, leaving you no choice but to pick him up from Jimmy’s.

Taxis aren’t an option, considering his aversion to self-driven cars, claiming that ”one that crashed like, ten years ago killed someone”. 

It looks like it’s up to you to baby him for the night.

Briefly, you wonder where his android went. Where could he possibly go other than the precinct or his place? Did he have a home or a docking station of some sort? Did he even need a docking station? 

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sit up in bed before grabbing your keys off the nightstand.

When you get outside, you’re disappointed to see that it’s raining, along with sleet, as is common in the dreary month of March. 

It takes a while for your car to warm up, and when it does you drive straight to Jimmy’s Bar, radio turned up all the way so you don’t pass out at the wheel.

When you finally get there, you can see Hank swaying side to side as he clung to a streetlight. Opening the door, you’re just about to yell at him to get inside your car before realizing he’s mumbling something.

He slurs our his rendition of ”Singin’ in the rain”, throwing his head back with a laugh only his mother would find adorable. Christ. If only you had a camera.

But really, you wish his android was here to drag his ass home. What was his name again? Collin? Clayton? 

”Hank, get your ass in here, ” you hiss, shooting him a sharp glare.

”Hey, you’re not Connor, ” he narrows his eyes, stopping his spinning to go up to your car. ”Thought I _hic–_ he was going t’ pick me up.” 

”You called me instead, asshole. Now get in, or I’m leaving you here.” Turning back to the road, you make sure no cars are coming before you decide to get out and try and shove his ass inside.

”Hey, hey! Gimme a minute!” he weakly struggles against you before collapsing into the passenger seat of your car with a loud groan. Before he has any chance to protest, you slam the door shut, muffling his drunken yelling. 

By the time you get inside your car, he’s already dozing off with the side of his face pressed to the window. You want to scold him more about waking you up only to have you drag his ass home, but seeing as he’s already fast asleep, you can do with grumbling on the way back to his place.

When you arrive at his house, you try (and fail), to wake him up. Next time he calls you at 3 am, you’re ignoring it.

”C’mon Hank, you gotta work with me here, ” you grunt as you lift him from your car. ”God, you weigh a ton...” you mutter, allowing him to slump onto you as you drag him to the porch.

Once you get to his door, you’re disappointed to find that the idiot had enough sense to lock it before he left. You can already hear the half-hearted barks coming from Sumo on the other side.

Propping him up against the side of his house, you pat Hank down, searching for his phone, or an extra house key.

”Hold on, I’m not ready, babe...” Hank mumbles, grabbing your wrists.

”In your dreams, dickhead, ” you reply dryly. Rolling your eyes, you search around the porch, flipping the doormat over, checking the mailbox, turning over rocks, when you come across his key taped to the underside of the porch light. Of course.

The two of you stumble inside, with Hank leaning in close, breathing onto your face. The rancid smell of beer mixed with nacho cheese hits you like a punch and it takes all your effort not to gag and empty your stomach contents onto his floor. 

As you slowly guide him to his bedroom, you spy a bottle of whiskey sitting on the counter inside his bathroom. You make a mental note to take a few swigs from it. You’ve deserved it for taking care of his drunk ass.

It took some convincing (not to mention a bit of bribery), but you finally got Hank to stay in bed, despite his protests.

When you saunter out from his bedroom, you glance at his clock before groaning at the sight of those eye-burning LED numbers telling you it was half-past three in the morning. No use driving home in this state.

Stifling a yawn, you quietly pad down the hallway, into the living room to lay down on the couch, kicking off your shoes before pulling an afghan over yourself for warmth. You close your eyes and drift off to the sounds of distant snores coming from the other room. 

When you awake a few hours later, you can feel a pair of eyes on you, burning into your skin.

Blinking, you squint as you see a casually dressed man standing right in front of you.

”Oh, you’re awake.” he tilts his head to the side, his brow lifting slightly There’s a blue circle on his left temple, signifying that he’s an Android. Kyle...? No, Conrad? Chris?

”Yeah,” you mumble, sitting upright, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before giving a languid stretch.

”I apologize that you had to deal with him last night. He can be a bit... Difficult when intoxicated.”

Such a stickler for formality. Was this the deviant that weirded Hank out all these months? You were starting to see why.

”Is he alright? Didn’t choke on his puke while he was passed out, huh?” you ask, smiling slightly as you stood up from the couch.

”No, but he did make a mess of the bed.” Realizing his wording, he quickly corrected himself, ”by vomiting, I mean. He’s okay, though,” he turns away from you, his eyes darting toward the window.

Nodding, you quietly laugh, shaking your head before going into his kitchen and opening up the fridge. Damn, the bastard had a six-figure salary but couldn’t afford to stock his fridge up with stuff other than beer and old takeout meals. 

”Hey, Carl–”

”My name is Connor,” he corrects.

”Right, right,” you roll your eyes as you open up the freezer, only to see a sad-looking Lean Cuisine and a few freezer-burnt breakfast rolls lying inside. ”When was the last time Hank went out grocery shopping?”

”Sixty-seven days ago. He frequently eats fast food and takeaway most days,” Connor replies, coming up beside you.

”Yeah, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see he’s not exactly eating right.”

”I’ve been suggesting he go to a dietician, or at least let me do the grocery shopping,” his face scrunches ever so slightly, and you can see the concern in his expression as his LED flickered yellow for a moment.

”You’re a good kid, Connor, but I think Hank might need something a bit more forceful rather than suggestions,” you pat his shoulder, giving a good-natured laugh before heading down the hallway to take a peek into Hank’s room. 

Luckily, Connor changed the sheets and cleaned up the mess. You can still smell the thick stench of bile in the air, and you spy his soiled sheets in the laundry basket, leaving Hank to sleep on a bare mattress with practically no clothes on, save for the thin sheet covering his crotch. Lovely. 

Closing the door to his room, you turn to Connor with a small smile.

”You up for shopping?”

**Author's Note:**

> might write another chapter  
tell me if u want reader to be w/connor or hank, babie


End file.
